


The Heart Of Thorin

by TaterChipGirl



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, Tolkien - Fandom, lotr - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magic, Mild Gore, Thilbo, bagginshield, otp, taterchipgirl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaterChipGirl/pseuds/TaterChipGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Arkenstone is The Heart Of Thorin. Or is it?</p><p>Steps in the journey, captured in words. We begin atop the Carrock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On The Carrock

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE (May 24, 2014)
> 
> I finally got to see Desolation Of Smaug. Having already mapped out a storyline, I needed to see what kind of imagery and information I could glean from the film to enhance it. The film's "time compression" left plenty of room for speculation on what happened between scenes, which is helpful. I like to stick to canon as much as possible, so upcoming chapters will be based mostly on the books, drawing on Tolkien's imagery and aided by visualizations provided in the film.
> 
> Chapter 2 is very close to being finished. I hope to post it soon, and I hope you all like it :)
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE (July 30, 2013):
> 
> This chapter has been bothering me since I posted it, because I felt there should be more to it. After much consideration, I decided the missing element was Bilbo giving Thorin some well-deserved backtalk after they reach the Carrock. I've rewritten Chapter 1 to reflect this. I've added a scene to the beginning of the chapter, done some minor dialogue correction and restructured a few sentences. My chapter, as originally posted, is still 99.5% intact, so those of you who've read it won't see anything missing that really matters.
> 
> This story has developed a life of its own, and is going way past any boundaries I set for it. It started out to be merely a series of vignettes, but the movie director in my head keeps adding to the script and shooting new scenes. Then he/she/it nags at me until I write it all down. There are now 14 chapters, all in progress AT THE SAME DAMN TIME. I felt the rewrite of Chapter 1 was necessary in order to properly tie in with subsequent events in the story. My brain is melting, but I'm doing the best I can to keep up.
> 
> I'll probably wait to post Chapter 2 (which is supposed to begin at the House of Beorn, but we'll see) until "Desolation Of Smaug" hits the theatres.
> 
> Archive warnings that don't apply to this first chapter are there because they will probably apply to subsequent chapters.
> 
> All criticism welcome, even if you're mean. I'm a big girl, I can take it :)  
> \------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You! What were you doing?” Thorin bellowed, advancing towards Bilbo. ”You nearly got yourself killed!”  
  
“What was I doing? What were YOU doing?” Bilbo shouted back, pointing accusingly at Thorin. “You nearly got yourself killed first!”  
  
Thorin shot the hobbit an incredulous look.

“You ran into a pack of wargs and orcs,” he said slowly, as if to a child. “Alone! Without training!” He stabbed a finger towards Bilbo’s sword. “And that … that little knife of yours! What did you think – that your skill at conkers would save you?”  
  
"Well, at least my ‘little knife’ did the job, didn’t it?” Bilbo put his hands on his hips. “You went in with training AND a giant sword,” he huffed. “And look what it got you!”  
  
“You should not have endangered yourself!” Thorin shouted.  
  
“I was already in plenty of danger, thank you very much!” Bilbo spluttered. “And what did you expect me to do - stand there and watch your head come off? Not likely!” He waggled a finger at Thorin. “There was nothing in the contract about that!”  
  
Thorin stood still, a confused frown on his face. He didn’t know what other surprises to expect from Bilbo – or from himself. He was feeling things he’d never allowed to surface before, and the rush of new emotions had caught him off his guard at a time when there was little opportunity to give them lengthy consideration.  
  
With uncharacteristic brashness, Bilbo glared back at the perplexed king, steadily holding his gaze.  
  
 _I’m not backing down now,_ he thought. _If you want to punch me for saving your life, then so be it. At least you’re alive to do the punching._  
  
Finally, Thorin spoke again, moving towards Bilbo as he did so. “Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?”  
  
Steeling himself for the worst, Bilbo squared his shoulders and lifted his chin as the king approached him. Despite the sinking feeling in his stomach, he meant to face whatever was coming with all the dignity he could muster.  
  
“I have never been so wrong in all my life!” His voice shaking with emotion, Thorin flung his arms around a dumbfounded Bilbo and pulled him close as the company cheered.  
  
Their embrace lasted much longer than intended.  
  
Trembling with relief and utter shock, Bilbo didn't notice when his hands crept up behind Thorin to grasp his overcoat, when he unashamedly buried his face deep in the massive fur collar. Nor did he notice the loud sigh escaping his lips as he let himself sag against the dwarf's solid frame.  
  
For his part, Thorin didn't notice that he instinctively pulled Bilbo more tightly against him, hungry for the warm weight of the hobbit in his arms. One hand unconsciously moved upward to cup the back of Bilbo's head, his fingers splaying out to embed themselves in the tangle of curly hair.  
  
Gradually, they became aware of what they were doing, and remembered that they were not alone on the Carrock. They pulled away with dreamlike slowness as racing blood thundered in their ears. Its throbbing rhythm was echoed by the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of gigantic wings - the eagles were leaving. The wings beat on and on ... it seemed they would beat forever in this sudden timelessness, as Thorin and Bilbo released their hold and finally looked at each other.  
  
Though lips did not move, and tongues did not speak, their eyes were unguarded gates. Silent messages flashed back and forth between the hobbit and dwarf king, their expressions shifting only a little - but it was enough. The terrible wonder of realization rooted them to the spot, unable to look away, barely breathing as their heart voices sang out a truth only they could hear.  
  
Bilbo's messy curls lifted and fluttered in a sudden gust of wind, catching the sunlight, and Thorin's attention. Only then did the king raise his eyes and take notice of what lay on the distant horizon, just behind the hobbit's head.  
  
The contact broken, Bilbo reluctantly turned to see what Thorin was looking at with such intensity.  
  
"Is that what I think it is?"  
  
Thorin nodded, his face alight with recognition. "Erebor," he whispered.  
  
Visions of victory, gold and power now filled his mind. The ancient homeland of his people lay practically within his grasp, waiting to be reclaimed and returned to its former glory. Memories of the Arkenstone and its scintillating light invited him onward.  
  
Ah, how glorious it would be to hold and possess the precious orb once more, to sit beneath its glow on his rightful throne ... but then the image unexpectedly changed to that of another jewel.  
  
This one was a deep, translucent red, its many facets embedded with tiny flecks of pure gold. From the time of its making by Thorin's own hands, it was securely shut away, rarely seen, awaiting the day it would serve its intended - and very specific - purpose. He saw in his mind the intricately carved wooden box created to contain it. Was it still where he'd left it those many years ago?  
  
Absorbed in this remembrance, Thorin turned to look at Bilbo as he laid eyes upon the Lonely Mountain for the first time.  
  
"This a good omen." Bilbo glanced back at Thorin. "I do believe the worst is behind us now." His face softened at the sight of Thorin's warm smile and shining eyes.  
  
Together, they turned back to the sight of Erebor's jutting peak.  
  
Together, they felt the same words in their hearts.  
  
 _I’m glad you’re alive. I'm glad you're here. I would have no other by my side in this moment._


	2. Morning At The House Of Beorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's morning stroll takes an unexpected turn, and Thorin is hard pressed to keep his composure.

The next morning, it took a while for Bilbo’s foggy brain to fully register where he was. The aroma of freshly baked bread tickled his nose and set it twitching against the rough woolen fibers of the blanket beneath him. Random outbursts of boisterous Dwarven table banter assaulted his ears, rudely pushing him into full wakefulness.

When he finally willed his eyes open and adjusted to the morning light, he saw Beorn’s animal servants moving efficiently about the great hall, bearing replenishments for the plates of their ravenous guests.

Beorn himself was nowhere to be seen, nor was Gandalf.

By degrees, Bilbo eased his stiff, aching body into a sitting position. Unnerving nocturnal animal noises, combined with the snoring of thirteen Dwarves, had allowed him only intermittent sleep, and despite a layer of hay underneath the thick blanket, the wooden sleeping bench had grown hard during the night as the hay compressed under his restless, shifting weight. He keenly felt every cut and bruise. His nose wrinkled disapprovingly at the odor arising from his filthy, road-worn clothing.

Bilbo desperately wanted a long soak in a hot bath. He wanted his soft patchwork robe. He wanted freshly laundered clothing that didn’t reek of smoke, blood and sweat. He wanted his pipe. He wanted to sit quietly by the fireplace with a steaming cup of tea in his favorite chair, in his own house.

Knowing that none of these things were forthcoming (and might not be for quite some time) further soured his mood. He decided that he cared not one bit for his first experience with the sustained physical exertion of rough travel (least of all the parts that involved running for his life).

Nonetheless, a generous breakfast awaited him, and like any reasonable Hobbit, Bilbo meant to take full advantage of it.

He sighed deeply, hauled himself to his feet and stretched a bit (very carefully) as he padded over to the long wooden table, picking bits of hay out of his sleep-tousled hair and smoothing it down as best he could. He took a seat at one end and helped himself to some bread and butter, returning nods of greeting from the Dwarves as they continued stuffing food into their mouths. Man-sized mugs had been provided, and Bilbo gratefully poured himself some tea.

At the opposite end of the table, Thorin and Dwalin consulted quietly together as they ate. A thrill shivered through Bilbo when his eyes met Thorin’s briefly over the wooden bowls and crockery and mounds of food. If Thorin felt anything, he gave no indication, turning back to his conversation as if nothing had happened.

Bilbo lowered his gaze and focused once again on his meal. Though his appetite at this point was every bit as voracious as that of his Dwarven companions, he forced himself to eat with comparatively polite Hobbit restraint.

His mood was much improved by a full stomach, and on a whim, he decided that a post-breakfast stroll was in order. He wanted some quiet time to himself, and the Dwarves had no need of him just now anyway. Perhaps, in lieu of the desired bath, a bit of light exercise in the fresh air would help loosen his stiff muscles.

He got up and spoke quietly to one of the canine servants, explaining his intentions and asking if he might have some food and water to take with him. The animal disappeared through a side door, leaving Bilbo to wait uncertainly, not knowing if he’d been understood. A few minutes passed before the dog returned, carrying a deep, densely woven basket. Inside, Bilbo found some cloth-wrapped honey cakes, a jar of dried fruit, and a stoppered stoneware bottle of water. Both vessels were clad in thick, tight-fitting sleeves made of the same material as the basket.

He thanked the animal, and with consummate Hobbit stealth, chose an opportune moment to slip away, leaving the Dwarves in the great hall to continue their noisy meal.

Once outdoors and well away from the house, Bilbo relaxed into a leisurely pace, pausing often to smell flowers, run his fingers down tree trunks, and wiggle his toes in the thick grass. This was the closest he’d felt to being at home in the Shire since he ran out his front door, and he intended to savor every moment. His meanderings eventually took him past Beorn’s bee meadows and far outside the defensive hedge surrounding the compound. Two of Beorn’s horses trailed him at a discreet distance, calmly nibbling grass during Bilbo’s frequent stops.

 

Sometime in the late morning, Bilbo stood overlooking a valley dominated by an ancient oak, the likes of which he’d never seen. Its massive trunk was large enough to be circled by fifty Men standing fingertip to fingertip. Gnarled branches wandered in every direction and dipped downward to rest on the ground, forming a spacious cave-like canopy festooned throughout with thick curtains of moss.

Bilbo hastened down the gently-sloping grassy ridge towards the base of the great tree, and wasted no time settling happily into the thick, fragrant cushion of dead leaves between its embracing roots, grateful for a reprieve from the looming midday heat.

He opened the food basket and reclined to nibble at a honey cake, watching in amusement as chattering squirrels skittered through the foliage above his head, leaping smoothly from branch to branch and swinging from knotty ropes of moss. Birds of all sizes and colors flew back and forth, carrying food to nests full of loudly chirping offspring. In the sunny clearing far beyond, butterflies descended lightly to land on gently swaying flowers. An occasional bee buzzed lazily through on its way to pollen-rich meadows.

As he ate, Bilbo’s free hand sifted idly through the top layer of dead leaves. When his wandering fingers uncovered a large lump, he sat up to look – it was an acorn, most likely buried by a squirrel. He turned it over and around, checking it carefully, and found it perfectly sound. It occurred to him then that a tree such as this, grown on his land in The Shire, would become a landmark, visible for miles. He pocketed the acorn with a triumphant smile, and leaned back against the roots of the oak to finish his honey cake.

His stomach lurched when, out of nowhere, he suddenly recalled the look on Thorin’s face the day before, during their spontaneous embrace on the Carrock. Bilbo still didn’t know what to make of his expression, or how he was supposed to feel about it. Though it seemed oddly slowed-down at the time, everything had actually happened very quickly, leaving no opportunity for contemplation.

After Thorin sighted his homeland on the horizon, there came the winding journey down a set of narrow, precipitous steps, rough-hewn into the living stone. One look from that dizzying height was all it took to keep Bilbo’s eyes and mind focused exclusively on his carefully placed feet.

Following that, a much-needed bath in the nearby river, then seemingly endless hours of tossing and turning on a pebble-strewn cave floor, snatching odd bits of fitful slumber in between the snoring and late-night conversations about Erebor going on around the fire.

 _Erebor…_ he mused. _What IS it about that place? I’ve never seen it, or heard of it before now … why does it feel so important?_

For reasons unknown, the sight of the Lonely Mountain had stirred something indefinable in Bilbo - an odd sense of destiny or... finality. Now, why would that particular word come to mind?

Maybe he was going to die there.

Maybe his fate was to be consumed by the fiery rage of a gold-hungry dragon. _(“Think ‘furnace with wings’”, Bofur had said)_.

_No! DON’T think that! Don’t do it!_

Bilbo clapped a hand to his forehead as if to dislodge the horrifying imagery.

_Think of something else! ANYTHING!_

His mind obliged right away by again showing him Thorin’s eyes, alight with something Bilbo hadn’t seen in him before. He desperately cast about for a word to describe it.

_Tenderness? Affection?_

“Don’t be stupid, Baggins,” he said aloud, shaking his head. “You’re imagining things.”

He flopped back down and closed his eyes with an exhausted sigh. True, Thorin _was_ more accepting of him now - but this - this _fantasy_ of Bilbo’s was taking things too far, reading too much into it. The fatigue born of unaccustomed physical and mental stress must be catching up with him. Caressed by fragrant breezes and cushioned by the springy carpet of dead oak leaves, Bilbo slowly gave in and nodded off, carrying with him the image of Thorin’s gently smiling face.

In his dream, they stood together again atop the Carrock. Thorin’s warm breath grazed his skin as they broke their embrace. This time, though, as he looked up into Thorin’s eyes, their heads turned at just the right angle, enough for their lips to brush… and then gently meet.

Bilbo jerked awake and bolted upright in shock, his heart pounding. He stayed like this for a few moments, gasping for air as he looked around and tried to remember - yet again - where he was. He drew up his knees, laid his forehead on them and pinched the sensitive tips of his ears hard a few times, hoping the pain would distract him from his dream. It didn’t work. His brain ran wild with renegade imaginings.

What if they _had_ kissed? How would it feel for Thorin to lift him off the ground with those strong arms, to have his hair falling over them like a dark curtain as their lips touched?

He thought back to the night Thorin had entered his home, when he’d faced the Dwarven leader for the first time in the foyer of Bag End. Although Bilbo was too preoccupied at the time to take note of it, something about the way Thorin looked at him had momentarily stopped Bilbo’s breath and made him a bit wobbly in the knees. With sudden dismay, he noticed an unwelcome telltale bulge in the front of his trousers.

“Aagghh!!!”

Bilbo leapt up, horrified, and started pacing madly back and forth, releasing the rich scent of humus from the underlying soil as he kicked up dead leaves and twigs. “Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!” he hissed, punching the air with balled-up fists. “This is RIDICULOUS!”

For decades, his life had been calm and predictable. Even Bilbo’s baser urges (more befitting an impulsive tween, in his opinion) had eventually been subsumed into daily routine, the energy easily channeled into other, more sensible pursuits.

And now _this?_ Just because some handsome Dwarf had appeared unbidden on his doorstep?

 _I’m tired is all,_ Bilbo assured himself, shaking his head. _And he is a bit imposing, so of course I was overwhelmed. Yes, that’s it. Just my mind playing tricks on me. A bit of sleep, and I’ll be right as rain._

Bilbo decided he’d had quite enough of thinking for the time being. There was no chance of sleep now with his mind in such a whirl. He’d lost track of the distance he’d traveled from Beorn’s house, but if he walked quickly, the trip back would likely be rigorous enough to wear him out and clear his head of this nonsense. Perhaps then he could catch a few winks in an out-of-the-way spot while the Dwarves were still otherwise occupied.

He took a few deep, settling breaths and gave his shoulders a vigorous roll.

 _Right… now get your head on straight,_ he admonished himself with a firm nod.

He ran a hand though his messy hair and tugged resolutely at the hem of his rumpled waistcoat.

_Focus, Baggins. Focus._

He took another deep breath and bent down to pick up the food basket.

Just then, a loud ruckus erupted somewhere far above his head. Unable to see what it was from his current position, he moved away from the tree’s trunk, ducked under a low branch, and squinted up through the dense moss into the shadows of the oak.

From what he was able to discern, it appeared that a group of large birds were engaged in a territorial dispute involving much squawking and wing-flapping. Their comically exaggerated posturing made him smile in spite of himself.

_Well… that’s a nice distraction. Thanks very much, birds._

Chuckling and shaking his head, he turned around to leave, and stopped in his tracks. He was face to face with a surprised-looking Thorin Oakenshield.

The last thing he saw clearly was Thorin opening his mouth to speak. Disoriented by panic, Bilbo abruptly turned back the way he’d come and found nothing but blinding pain.

 

 

When Bilbo came to, he was lying on his back under the tree. His head throbbed, and something warm and stinging dribbled into his left eye. He reached up to see what it was.

“Don’t touch it!” Thorin’s voice commanded. “You’re bleeding.”

Bilbo obediently lowered his hand. When he was somewhat able to focus his vision, he saw Thorin crouched beside him, stuffing large fleshy leaves into his mouth and chewing vigorously.

“Why … why am I bleeding?” Bilbo said faintly.

“You walked into that low branch and hit your head,” Thorin mumbled with his mouth full. He leaned in closer, still chewing, and carefully used his shirt sleeve to soak up some of the blood from around Bilbo’s eye. “Don’t move.”

“I feel … dizzy … ”, Bilbo whispered.

Thorin shoved the wad of leaves in his mouth to the side, making his cheek bulge. “Close your eyes,” he said, speaking more clearly now. “Take deep, slow breaths.”

Bilbo complied, and Thorin resumed his chewing. The breathing did help, and after a few moments, Bilbo was able to open his eyes again without everything wavering.

“What are you doing?”

Thorin removed the leaf wad from his mouth, spat on the ground and wiped his face on his sleeve.

“Preparing a medicine to stop the bleeding.” He worked the wet plant matter with his thick fingers until it produced a greenish jelly, then leaned over and positioned it above Bilbo’s left eyebrow.

“I’m going to put this on the wound,” Thorin continued. “It burns at first, so be ready. Try not to move.” Then he lowered it and applied firm pressure with his thumb. “Be still!” he snapped when Bilbo jerked and hissed. “It numbs pain as well. Soon you’ll feel nothing.”

Bilbo flexed his hands and blew out a long, slow breath as he waited for the burning sensation to subside. As promised, it went away quickly. The pain in his head was soon a distant, rhythmic twinge. Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief.

“That was faster than I expected. How did you know to use that plant?”

Intent on his task, Thorin didn’t answer right away. He rolled his thumb carefully in a circular motion over the wet lump of chewed leaves, flattening it to better cover Bilbo’s wound.

“I helped raise my nephews after their father died,” he finally replied. “Headstrong young boys tend to injure themselves often. Their mother – my sister – “,  he amended with a respectful nod – “grows this plant for such occasions. Oin carries it as well.”

Thorin’s expression grew suddenly grim. “Or did… until the goblins relieved him of most of his personal effects.”

Bilbo didn’t know what to say to this. “Oh … ”,  he managed weakly, feeling obliged to respond.

Neither of them spoke for a while as Thorin maintained pressure on the wound. Eventually, Bilbo broke the silence.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t,” Thorin snapped. “I thought I was alone.”

“I see,” Bilbo said quietly, and fell silent again.

Thorin grimaced, seeming to realize the harsh tone of his words.

”I left the compound to help Oin replace his lost medicinal plants," he said, his tone somewhat more kindly. "I followed some horses I found traveling through the meadows, assuming they could lead me back to the house if I lost my way. They brought me here.”

He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “I’m sorry to have startled you, and caused you injury.”

“It’s quite all right,” Bilbo replied with a little laugh. “A good, solid blow to the head is just what I needed.”

Thorin frowned at him. “Why do you say that?”

Bilbo’s heart leapt and started hammering again, and he felt a blush rising to his face.

“Oh … just, um … a lot on my mind.” He smiled feebly and gestured in the general direction of his injury. “I suppose this did a fair job knocking some of it out.”

(Which wasn’t at all true, especially with Thorin so near, and actually touching him.)

“How do you feel now?” Thorin’s voice broke into his thoughts.

Bilbo took a deep, cautious breath.

“Better, actually. Still a bit… not all here… but the pain is gone.”

“Can you sit up?”

Bilbo blinked hard and took a few more breaths before answering.

“Maybe. I can try.”

Thorin leaned in and gently peeled off the gooey plant wad to look underneath. Bilbo’s heart thudded at the close proximity of their faces, and the stray bit of dark Dwarven hair that swung forward to rest on the front of his waistcoat.

“The bleeding has stopped,” Thorin announced. He tossed the chewed leaves aside and slid his hands under Bilbo’s shoulders. “Sit up slowly.”

With Thorin guiding him, Bilbo carefully moved into a sitting position. For a few seconds, everything was fine. Then the throbbing in his head reared up again and hit him like a wave. His stomach rocked with nausea.

“Sick… sick… ” Bilbo gulped, his breath coming fast and shallow. “Going to be… sick… ”

Quickly, but gently, Thorin laid him back down.

“Breathe slowly and deeply, as you did before,” he instructed. “If you feel the need to vomit, roll onto your side so it doesn’t choke you. I’ll return soon with stronger medicine.”

Bilbo closed his eyes and breathed, and the nausea gradually faded as he listened to Thorin’s heavy boot steps moving away from him. When his stomach had settled enough, he rolled his head to the side, and saw Thorin in the distant sunlit clearing, just outside the range of the farthest oak branches. He was down on one knee, digging with a stick around a tall, wide-leafed plant.

When Thorin stood up, the entire thing, root and all, was in his hand. As he carried it back to where Bilbo was lying, he knocked the root against his leg to rid it of dirt clods, then wiped it on his trousers.

He sat down next to Bilbo and bit off a chunk of the root.

“Chew this,” he said, holding it out to Bilbo. “The taste is unpleasant, but it will settle your stomach.”

Bilbo accepted the piece of root and examined it doubtfully. “Do I actually eat it, or just chew it?”

“Chew it until the flavor is gone. Spittle makes the root’s juices more effective. After that, swallow it if you wish. It’s not necessary, but it will do no harm.”

Hesitantly, Bilbo placed the root piece on his tongue, and a strong, earthy scent immediately filled his nostrils. It grew more pronounced when he bit into it, accompanied by a peppery sort of flavor. Gritty soil residue crunched between his teeth. Not very nice, but overall, not as bad as he’d expected.

After a few seconds of chewing, he noticed something odd.

“My mouth is numb,” he mumbled.

“I know,” said Thorin. “Keep chewing.”

While Bilbo did this, Thorin brought out his new tinderbox and wooden pipe (both gifts from Beorn, who now and then hosted and traded with trusted Men passing through his lands). Soon, a fragrant cloud of pipe-weed smoke surrounded them, drifting about randomly as brief gusts of wind darted beneath the canopy of the gigantic oak.

“That smells very nice,” Bilbo said dreamily after a few minutes. “May I have some?”

“You’ll have to sit up,” Thorin replied between puffs. “Are you ready?”

“I think so.”

Bilbo carefully raised himself off the ground, and Thorin reached out with his free hand to help. Between the two of them, they managed to get Bilbo sitting upright again.

He stayed still and waited to see what would happen. Though distantly aware of his wound, he felt no pain. The throbbing in his head had mostly subsided, and his stomach was now calm.

Thorin refilled his pipe, lit it again and offered it to Bilbo, who shifted the piece of root to the side of his mouth to take a long, careful draw. He held the smoke in for a few seconds before gently exhaling. After doing this twice more, he handed the pipe back.

“Thank you. I do feel much better now.”

“You have water?”

Bilbo nodded towards the food basket, and Thorin stretched out to grab it and pull it closer.

“Drink slowly,” he said, handing the earthen bottle to Bilbo, “Or the numbness will make you choke.”

The water felt strange in his mouth and throat, but Bilbo was careful, and managed to down a few mouthfuls without any problems. He handed the bottle back to Thorin, who took a few generous gulps for himself and replaced the stopper.

They sat in silence for some time, Thorin smoking and Bilbo chewing the chunk of root until nothing remained of it but a tiny lump of tough, tasteless fibers. He decided against swallowing it, and leaned over to spit it out instead.

The effect of the root on Bilbo was something he’d never experienced before. It was nothing like pipe-weed, ale, wine, or even the occasional bit of stronger alcohol he’d had in his lifetime.

Instead of being dulled, all his senses were sharpened. His whole body felt light, fluid and relaxed, free of the nagging aches he’d awakened with that morning in Beorn’s hall.

Despite his previous agitation regarding Thorin, sitting here alone with him in this easy, familiar manner now seemed absolutely right and normal. The world felt in perfect balance. Breathing was a pleasure. Bilbo was fairly sure that, when he concentrated, he could distinguish the sound of each individual leaf on the towering oak as it rustled in the wind.

Meanwhile, Thorin took advantage of the Hobbit’s distracted state to openly study him up close and at length, allowing his gaze to linger as he scrutinized him from head to toe. He was especially captivated by Bilbo’s mobile, expressive face - it was hard not to smile at his wonderstruck reactions to the root’s effects.

This was the first time he and Bilbo had been alone together, and Thorin found he enjoyed it more than he would have expected. Before meeting Bilbo, Thorin’s attitude towards Hobbits was dismissive, at best - which was typical of most Dwarves. To him, they were unremarkable foreign creatures, meriting no attention aside from their functions as food growers and animal tenders.

But this one was unlike any other he’d had dealings with. Not only did Bilbo possess surprising strength and courage, but Thorin was also finding him rather… enchanting.

 _I must have swallowed some juice from the leaves_ … s _till, no harm in just looking… he is very easy on the eyes… I wonder what his hair feels like…_

A rush of blood inflamed Thorin’s face - to his great shame, he already knew the answer to that question. His teeth clamped down on the pipe stem as he quickly lowered his head and pretended to find something interesting on the ground. He recalled now in vivid detail the sensation of sliding his fingers through Bilbo’s curls during their embrace.

Among his people, such deliberate and intimate touching of the hair was reserved for relatives, spouses and lovers. Because Bilbo was none of these, most Dwarves would have considered Thorin’s behavior very forward. Fortunately, the Hobbit didn’t know this, and Thorin was fairly sure none of his companions had seen it happen, as they had all been behind him at the time. Even so…

_Why did I do it? Why would I touch him in that manner without thinking?_

“You really should have some of this,” Bilbo blurted out, tilting his head this way and that as he listened to the wind. “It’s wonderful.”

Thorin jumped a little at the sudden disruption of his thoughts, but managed to keep his composure.

“If I did, I wouldn’t want to move from this spot,” he answered without looking up. “And I must return you safely to Beorn’s house as soon as possible.”

“Why should we want to go anywhere?” Bilbo flung his hands into the air, indicating their surroundings, and let them flop carelessly back to the ground. “It’s perfectly nice right here. Besides… “

He looked up at what they could see of the sky through the dense network of oak branches and moss strands. “It’s almost midday, too hot to walk that far. Why don’t we just relax and enjoy the shade?”

For a third time, Thorin refilled and lit his pipe.

“That wound of yours needs attention I cannot provide,” he said perfunctorily, holding the pipe out to Bilbo. “And I have work to do. Oin will want this plant, it’s valuable medicine. We’ll leave when I’ve finished preparing it.”

“If you say so.”

Bilbo shrugged amiably and accepted the offered pipe. He smoked and watched as Thorin sliced off the plant’s remaining leaves with a small knife and stacked them carefully on the ground. Drugged as he was, it didn’t consciously register with Bilbo that he was staring brazenly at the Dwarf as he worked.

Thorin was lightly dressed today, wearing a plain blue shirt minus the usual bulky travel gear. His sleeves were rolled up now, exposing his stocky, tattooed forearms. Dark hair peeped out through the laced placket of the shirt, and Bilbo caught an occasional glimpse of Thorin’s muscular chest when he leaned forward to arrange the leaves he was cutting.

The Dwarves had never seemed concerned about being seen naked while bathing. Nonetheless, Bilbo had always kept his eyes politely averted, taking special pains not to look in Thorin’s direction. Now, with the plant’s powerful essence dissolving his inhibitions by the minute, he found himself wishing he had.

Thorin removed the largest leaf from the stack and rolled the rest into a tight cylinder. From beneath his shirt, he drew out a cloth pouch that hung on a cord around his neck and retrieved a length of twine, with which he bound the rolled leaves before putting them into the food basket.

The leaf he’d set aside was used to wrap the plant’s bulky root before he added it to the basket, along with the stem, which he cut into sections to make it fit.

“What’s the stem used for?” asked Bilbo.

“The making of a medicinal tea.” Thorin unstoppered the water bottle and took another swig, then held it out to Bilbo. “I’ll need my pipe back.”

“Of course.” Bilbo handed it to Thorin and took the bottle. “Kind of you to let me use it. I shall certainly return the favor when I’m able.”

He drank deeply and carelessly this time, and some of the water leaked from the corners of his mouth, dribbling onto his clothes.

“I feel unusually warm,” he said, setting the bottle on the ground.

“Yes,” agreed Thorin, as he finished the remainder of the pipe’s contents. “The root can have that effect.”

Bilbo opened his waistcoat and removed it, carelessly flinging it down next to him.

“There… that’s much better.” He clumsily tugged his shirt out of his trousers, undid all the buttons and flapped the fabric a bit to fan air onto his torso.

“Yes, so much better. Oh, my… I feel like bread baking in the oven.”

As Bilbo struggled with his sweaty cravat, he didn’t notice the sudden intensity of Thorin’s gaze, or when he blushed and abruptly looked away.

Feeling a bit warm himself, Thorin loosened the laces of his shirt and stood up. He put away his pipe and the water bottle, then picked up Bilbo’s discarded clothing and stuffed it into the food basket.

“It’s time to go,” he said, rather more severely than he intended. “Are you able to stand and walk?”

“I think so,” Bilbo replied slowly. “I may need help, though.”

Thorin reached down and pulled the Hobbit to his feet. Bilbo swayed a bit, and Thorin grabbed his shoulder to steady him.

“Well?”

“What?” Bilbo stared dumbly at Thorin, still preoccupied with his heightened senses.

“Can you walk?”

“Of course I can. I feel fine now.” Without warning, Bilbo took off in a random direction, shuffling unsteadily through the dead leaves.

Thorin followed, carrying the food basket.

“Wait!” he shouted, walking faster to catch up. “Stop! I think you’re going the wrong way!”

He grabbed Bilbo’s arm and whirled him around to face the opposite direction.

“Come with me.”

Thorin kept a firm hold on Bilbo to prevent him stopping to run his hands through the thick strands of moss dangling everywhere. He didn’t let go until they finally emerged into the clearing around the oak, where Bilbo promptly sat down and started staring fixedly at a bright orange clump of flowers.

Thorin gritted his teeth and growled under his breath.

_I should have known this would happen. Hobbits must be more sensitive than Dwarves to this sort of thing. I’ll probably have to carry him._

As Thorin considered the logistics of balancing a drugged Hobbit and a fully loaded basket in the midday heat, a soft snort caught his attention. He turned around to find a horse approaching – one of those he’d followed here.

Reminding himself that this was no ordinary animal (and under Beorn’s fierce and watchful protection), he took pains to address it politely.

“Greetings,” he began, respectfully inclining his head. “My friend is injured and needs tending. Will you lead us back to the halls of your master?”

The horse dipped its head to sniff at Bilbo, tossed its mane and whinnied loudly. Then, to Thorin’s surprise, it lowered itself onto its belly, putting it at the right height for Bilbo to mount its back. The other horse snorted, and galloped off – presumably in the direction of their destination.

Thorin dropped the basket, stood Bilbo up and lifted him onto the horse. He immediately tipped over and slid off on the opposite side. When Thorin ran around to retrieve him, Bilbo was lying on the ground giggling helplessly.

Clearly, he was unable to ride alone, so Thorin mounted the horse first this time, and dragged Bilbo up to sit in front of him.

When both riders were settled, the horse carefully rose to its feet and picked up the food basket (which Thorin had forgotten about) in its mouth. As the animal started walking, Thorin held Bilbo firmly against him to prevent him falling off again.

By now, Bilbo was fully under the root’s influence. He sagged limply against Thorin and let his head flop to the side. Something tickled his nose, and he reached up to swat it away, only to find it was one of Thorin’s braids moving in the breeze. The silver bead securing the end caught Bilbo’s eye, and he picked it up to examine it.

“This is a pretty thing,” he said, turning the bead this way and that in the sunlight. “What do these symbols mean?”

Thorin blushed at this intimate gesture, but managed to keep his voice steady. “That I am a descendant of Durin.”

_The Hobbit doesn’t know - think nothing of it. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing. Don’t embarrass him._

In truth, he knew Bilbo was unlikely to be embarrassed by anything at this point. The plant whose essence he’d ingested was one of the most potent known to the Dwarves. Their naturally hardy constitutions made them somewhat less susceptible to its mind-altering effects, but given a large enough amount, even the most proper of them would shed his decorum.

Some of Thorin’s loose hair blew into Bilbo’s face and covered his eyes. Still holding the braid in one hand, Bilbo used the other to lift the stray hair above his head and flip it over Thorin’s shoulder. His fingers accidentally brushed Thorin’s neck as he did so.

Thorin politely ignored this unintentional breach of Dwarven propriety, but quivered when he felt Bilbo’s fingertips on his skin.

Never had he thought to find himself in such a position. Given Bilbo’s inebriated condition, it was pointless to inform him of his indecorous behavior, so Thorin had no choice but to allow it for the time being. He was unexpectedly happy about this, and found himself hoping for a long, slow journey back to Beorn’s compound.

_Because I like it. I like being touched this way. I like that Bilbo is the one doing it, and I don’t want him to stop._

Thorin’s face burned with embarrassment at this silent admission, but he quickly reminded himself that no one else was aware of his thoughts, and never would be.

Bilbo would most likely not remember anything, so Thorin was free to passively relish this pleasant diversion while it lasted. He would never speak of it. It would be his secret, his private treasured memory.

“This is very enjoyable,” Bilbo sighed happily, dropping the bead and settling his head on Thorin’s shoulder.

Thorin swallowed hard before answering. “Yes… the effects of the root can be quite… relaxing.”

Bilbo laughed merrily, setting off sparkles in Thorin’s chest. “Well, that’s nice, too, but it wasn’t what I meant.”

“What, then?”

“This!” Bilbo said emphatically.

He grabbed Thorin’s hands and pulled the Dwarf’s arms more tightly around him. “I wish we could always ride like this. I feel so much safer.”

Thorin was suddenly dizzy, and clamped his legs more firmly to the horse’s sides to keep from tumbling off.

_Get hold of yourself! He’s like a child right now, he doesn’t know what he’s saying._

“I doubt both of us could fit comfortably on a pony,” Thorin quickly deflected. “Especially with luggage.”

“Mmm… ” Bilbo made a disappointed sound. “I s‘pose that’s true.” He closed his eyes and let his head slide over to rest in the crook of Thorin’s neck. “Good thing we have a horse, then. I’ll be sorry when this ride is over.”

 _So will I,_ Thorin concurred silently.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. As usual, RL interrupted my fic flow - but on the good side, it allowed me time to give it tweaks I didn't know it needed. Thanks for your patience.


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